


Don't Regret a Thing

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe-No Magic, Cellist Regulus, Cellist Sirius, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Manager Remus, reporter James
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reporter James Potter does not enjoy classical music, so when Lily gets him to cover the Black Brothers Cellists at a concert, he's not pleased.  Until he meets the gorgeous Regulus Black, and is blown away by how amazing their music truly is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Regret a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this post](http://angry-space-ravenclaw.tumblr.com/post/144841646859/pls-make-a-wolfstarwolfstarbucks-au-in-which) which was originally a request for wolfstar or wolfstarbucks, but I was a bit burnt out on that pairing, so I went with Jegulus. Check out the post for the reference video. Sirius and Regulus are based off the 2Cellos duo who are absolutely amazing.

James startled, glancing up when the paper hit his desk, just over the document he was reading. He hadn’t even heard his office door open, so seeing Evans stood there with her arms crossed, that look on her face, his eyes narrowed.

“What the hell?”

“Feature them.” Lily pointed at the top of the paper, at some news article reading, ‘Will Fox Hunting be Outlawed?’

James looked up, a mild expression of annoyance crossing his face. “Christ, Evans, if this is another one of your save the animals shite…”

Lily frowned, then looked down and huffed, flipping the paper over. Eclectic Cello Duo to Perform in London. “Them, you arse. Them. Do a feature on them.”

James licked his lips, fighting back a groan. “Evans, I don’t want to sit through another bloody night of sodding Vivaldi…”

“Trust me,” Lily said, “this is not Vivaldi.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Beethoven, then. Whatever. I really don’t give a shit about classical music.”

“Well I can’t do this article, obviously, as you’re entertainment. And because you’re a twat. But I can come with you as moral support or whatever, if you can score an interview and tickets are sold out and I really bloody want to go. And you owe me after last week when your little bedmate…”

“Yeah, yep,” James said loudly, in a hurry, not eager to hear the story told aloud. “Fine, Christ. I’ll have my dad make a few calls.”

“I knew staying friends with you would have perks,” Lily said with a wink. “Text me with what time you’ll be picking me up. The concert is tomorrow.” She flounced out of the office and James fought back the urge to chase her with a rude gesture.

Instead he grabbed the paper and read through the article. Two brothers from Morocco, playing cello since they could stand, blah blah blah. The usual story. James had been working for his father’s paper for a long time, and had agreed to take up the Editor in Chief position so long as he continued to write in at least one section of the paper. Which happened to be Entertainment. Which meant he still had to do things like this.

James wasn’t the classical music sort. Never really got on with the whole slow, sombre sounds of whinging violins and tittering flutes. If he’d seen one Mozart concert, he’d seem them all really. Though he knew he’d probably be murdered in his bed if any classical music enthusiast had heard him say anything like that.

But he did owe Evans. Technically. He had just never pegged her for the Haydn sort. He gave himself a rather smug smile at how many composers he actually remembered this far out of school, and got up with a sigh. He headed out into the corridor, ducking a few curious looks, and made his way down to his father’s office.

He was on the phone, but beckoned James in, motioning for him to close the door after. James did, and went for the small bar, pouring himself a tonic with a slice of lime, and came to sit, waiting for Fleamont to finish up. It was clear by his tone he was speaking to James’ mum about their impending, three-month long trip back to Madurai to take care of what James was certain was never-ending family business. He was just grateful to have the excuse to stay on in London instead of dealing with his too many cousins, and too many aunties who would all want to know why he was wasting his life, and why couldn’t he just get a nice wife and have some babies they could spoil.

“…yes. Of course, my darling. Yes. Of course. I…yes. Effie…I have, I have! Alright. I have to go, Jamie’s here and…oh. Yes, I’ll tell him. Yes…no, no I can’t put him on. No I…of course he will. Alright, bye.” Fleamont cradled the phone on his desk, and James lifted a brow.

“Do I want to know?”

His dad chuckled. “Likely not. You know how she gets before we travel.”

James sighed. “Well at least it’s not me this time round.”

“Because you are a dreadful son and I should have given you away the moment you came out,” Fleamont said. “What do you need?”

“Who says I need something?” James challenged.

“Your posture and your face and your very presence in my office,” Fleamont reminded him. “Normally you avoid me so I won’t talk you into joining us.”

James shrugged, then sipped his drink. “There’s some cello thing…cello players. Big deal, I suppose. I thought they’d be a good feature and I need you to see if you can get me an interview and some tickets. Two.”

“Two,” Fleamont asked, brightening.

James shook his head. “Please not now. It’s for Evans. I owe her.”

With a sigh, he shook his head. “Such a pretty girl, you know. You two could have…”

“I know what we could have, but we didn’t. Now we’re friends, and I owe her. So can you?”

“If you’re going to be rude about it,” Fleamont warned.

“You want me to beg?”

He gave his son a withering look, then picked up his phone and made a quick, sharp call. When it was over, he spread his hands and shrugged. “There you are. They’ll be here this afternoon, and your name will be at the venue which you can access with your press badge. You’ll get a pre-show interview, and post. You can pick up your pretty, not-girlfriend and have a good night on the town.”

“She fancies women more than men,” James reminded him. “She’s dating Marlene.”

“Ah I know. And cute couple, those two. But I just had hoped…”

“Spare me,” James said, and rose, going round the desk to kiss the centre of his father’s forehead. “Have a safe trip, okay. And give mum a kiss for me?”

Fleamont patted James’ cheek. “Go on. Enjoy your three months as boss of this place. It’ll be yours soon enough.”

“I can’t wait,” James said dryly, but smiled as he walked out. He decided to skip the rest of his day, and only paused to poked his head round Evan’s cubicle. “Sorted. The tickets will be at the front desk by the end of the day. Along with the press badges. I’ll pick you up this evening. Please be ready.”

“When am I not?” Lily challenged. “You’re the one who takes an hour on your hair to make it look like,” she waved her hand at his messy mop, “whatever that is.”

“Oh fuck off, you liked it at school,” James said, then winked at her as he tossed his keys in the air, caught them, and sauntered toward the lifts. “This had better be worth it, Evans.”

“Oh believe me, Jamie boy,” she called after him, “it will be!”

*** 

James arrived at Lily’s flat an hour before they had to be at the venue. He had the basic interview questions and the bare-bones bio of the two brothers—which contained their ages, names, and where they were educated. It was all James felt like he needed to get enough information for a short piece in the next edition of the Prophet. Lily had their press badges and tickets, and she looked very pretty in a bright green dress and stilettos. Her hair was down, flowing long against her back, and she was smiling as she climbed into James’ car.

“You have no idea how excited I am for this. You’re about to have your mind blown.”

“That would be some sort of miracle, Evans,” James said tiredly as he put the car in gear, pulling away from the kerb. “I really don’t like classical.”

“Man I am going to look forward to serving you crow for the next month,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “I expect a fucking bouquet of chocolate roses or something as a thank you when we’re done here.”

James rolled his eyes. “And if I hate it?”

“I’ll take your editing queue for an entire week.”

James almost choked. “You’re joking.”

Extending her hand, she shook her head. “I’m that confident.”

Not one to back off a bet that good, James shook on it, then pushed the pedal down, swerving round as much traffic as he could until they reached the venue. The concert hall was massive, James surprised this many people would turn out to see a couple of blokes playing cello especially considering the classical music scene was dying down in spite of people like Groban or Bocelli. Honestly he’d have to be on a paying job to see either one of them as well, but he could tolerate the singing more than he could instrumental.

They flashed their press badges and had their names checked before they were allowed into the staff car park, and before long they were heading toward the back entrance, Lily all-but bouncing on her heels. “I’m going to sit in with you during the interview,” she said excitedly. “God, you think they’d give me an autograph?”

“Can you ask after I’ve finished so the paper doesn’t look like it employs a bunch of superfans who use connections to meet celebrities they want to shag?” James begged.

“I don’t want to shag them, Potter!” Lily said, rolling her eyes and elbowing him. “Not everyone thinks with their sex-drive.”

James huffed, flashing his badge at the door guard for a scan, then they were let inside. They moved down a long, dimly lit corridor, which led to a larger room lousy with people who had similar badges. Most of them looked like VIP concert-goers, and contest winners, some of which James thought might have actually come from the Prophet.

He glanced round, then found someone who looked important, holding a clipboard. “Hi there. I’m James Potter, with the Daily Prophet. I have a pre-show interview scheduled with the Black brothers?”

The man looked at his list, then reached for his radio. A tinny voice answered back, then James was beckoned along, though Lily was held up at the door and he could hear her cursing wildly. He didn’t make an attempt to bring her with—he wanted this to remain both professional and quick, a handful of photos snapped by his digital camera, and a couple of recorded lines of the brothers chatting about whatever it was they wanted to promote.

Easy stuff, really. He could do it in his sleep.

James was led to a small room with a round table, a couple bottles of water in the centre, and a man who was decidedly not one of the cello players. He was tall, a bit gangly and broad in the shoulders. Dark-tawny curls, a big nose, and an almost sharp smile.

“Mr Potter.” His voice had a strong lilt to it, though James couldn’t place it straight away.

James frowned, but extended his hand. “Er. Yes, from the Prophet.”

“Right, yes. I’ll be conducting this portion of the interview, and then I’ll let you know if Sirius and Regulus will sit for the second half.”

“You’ll let me know,” James repeated, gripping the back of one of the chairs. “Hang on, I was told…”

“I don’t really care what you were told, Mr Potter. I’m the Brothers’ manager, and I’ll be providing whatever information you need, as well as some press photos and if they decide not to sit the interview, I can get a few quotes for you to use. We do this all the time, you see.”

James huffed, but pulled the chair out and plonked down, shoving his voice recorder in the centre. “I work better this way,” when the manager lifted a brow. “I’ll type it up, make it look more natural later.”

“Alright.”

“Can you state your name for the record?”

“I feel like I’m on a police interview,” he said with a chuckle. “Either way, I’m Remus Lupin, manager for Sirius and Regulus Black.”

James stared down at his pre-show questions. “So it says here both of the brothers trained at the Institute for Music in Rabat. Where they were born?”

“Mm.”

“And were raised?” James pressed, hoping this Remus bloke planned to speak at least a little.

“They were. Their father was a British ambassador, but they never lived outside of Rabat until recently. They were picked up by a record label after a youtube video of theirs went viral.”

“Well we are certainly living in the era of YouTube,” James said. “And I suppose the British father is where the names come from? Sirius and Regulus Black.”

“Family tradition,” Remus said.

James nodded, glancing at his questions. “Personal questions alright?”

At that, Remus’ cheeks went a bit dark. “Depends.”

“Married?”

“Sirius is,” Remus said, and James noticed him absently brushing over the ring on his finger.

“To you,” James pointed out.

Remus glanced at his hand, then muttered something in his breath that was definitely not English, but absolutely a curse. “Going on three years now. But we try to keep it quiet so if this could remain off the record, I would really appreciate it.”

James nodded. “I’m not a bastard, Mr Lupin. Believe me. I’m not here to expose some big story or get the juicy news. To be honest, I’m not really a fan of classical music.”

Remus’ eyes twinkled a little. “I think you’ll enjoy the show anyway.”

James sighed. “People keep telling me that.”

“Well, maybe you ought to listen to them.”

Pursing his lips, James went through the rest of the questions, then sat back, flicking off the recorder. “So after the show and if they decide to sit with me…”

“I’ll interpret,” Remus said, and when James’ eyebrows shot up, Remus grinned. “They don’t speak a lot of English.”

“And probably no Tamil,” James muttered mostly to himself. “Fair enough. I’ve worked with interpreters loads. And anyway…” There was a flickering light, and Remus rose. “I guess the show’s starting. Shall I meet you just after?”

“There’s going to be an intro, and a small orchestra will play a few pieces before they’re on. I have to go make sure everything’s sorted for them though, but feel free to mingle until the show starts.” He shook James’ hand, then hurried off as James collected his things and made his way out.

The gathering room had emptied of everyone, save for one person at a small sink. He was shorter than James by several inches, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He had something tucked up under his arm, and he was feeling round and muttering something quietly.

It took James a moment to realise what was happening. The man was blind, and he was searching for the knob to turn the water on. Hurrying over, James cleared his throat. “Sorry but…it’s motion sensor. It…”

The man’s face turned up and James’ breath caught in his throat. He was gorgeous—no, more than that, though he didn’t have words in either of his languages. His skin was dark olive, eyes a sharp, fierce grey. His hair was straight, silky black, falling over his forehead in an elegant sweep. His fingers were long as they rested on the edge of the counter, tapping gently.

“Ma fhemtsh.”

That was definitely not English, but James didn’t think this was one of the Black brothers, so possibly one of their family members or crew from Rabat. Either way, he assumed he didn’t speak English.

“I’m sorry I just…” James felt like a twat, but with no other way to do it, he grabbed the man’s wrist, then waved his hand under the sink which sprang to life. The man startled a bit, then let out a laugh as he shoved his hands under the water, then used it to push his hair back away from his face.

“Shokran bzzaf,” he said, extending a slightly damp hand, which James reckoned meant something like a thank you, so he took it.

“No worries. Anyway I’d offer you help but I don’t think you understand me and it would probably end up in a terrible disaster. Plus I’m sure you’re fine on your own so…have a good night.”

The man grinned, though looking still confused, then he drew a folded white cane from under his arm and James’ assessment was proved correct when he navigated out of the room on his own. Letting out a breath, James tried not to stare, and got his head back in the game. He had a job to do, then he’d be on his way. And it was no use pining after some ridiculously good looking man who didn’t speak either of his languages, especially one that was on tour and would be out of the city by next week.

Cursing his rotten luck, James made his way back to the side of the stage where he found Lily in the VIP area, and they took their seats.

“Bit of an enthusiastic crowd for cellos and violins,” James muttered.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Trust me. You’ll see soon enough.”

*** 

And he did.

James’ breath caught in his throat a second time as the lights dimmed, then came back up, and the brothers were sat on chairs with the most bizarre looking cellos James had ever seen. They were barely there, just a twist of what looked like plastic under a fretboard, and strings. Electric, he assumed, but honestly that wasn’t what caught his eye.

It was the one on the left with the blue cello. It was the bloke from the sink. With the faucet.

James swallowed thickly as the brothers shifted forward in their seats. They were being introduced to the crowd, but James was hardly paying attention. He had to assume the one he’d spoken to was Regulus, as the other—who was slightly taller, longer hair, and donned a ring similar to the one Remus had been wearing—was likely Sirius. They looked so much a like it was almost startling, though the marked differences were what made them appealing.

Sirius was definitely far more charismatic of the pair, half-rising with his cello, immediately engaging the crowd as they roared. Then they brought their bow to the strings, and James cursed because Lily was right.

His entire world was thrown upside down. 

This was no ordinary cello music. They launched into an immediate rendition of Eye of the Tiger, Sirius rising and writhing along to the music, his head nodding along almost frantically as their fingers flew, and their bow hairs began to shred. James had never seen anyone play so rapidly, so intensely.

Even Regulus, who kept to his seat, moved his entire body to the music, the pair of them so in sync it was almost mystical in a way. They became the music, and it was an experience James didn’t have words for. He realised he would have no idea how to even frame the article because how did one put something together like that?

By the time it was over, James was enthralled. Entranced. He was being openly laughed at by Lily but how could he care when he’d just witnessed that? Sheer perfection, the definition of art.

If he hadn’t been half-gone by Regulus’ beauty earlier, he was now. Frankly over both of them a little, because you couldn’t witness something like that and not want, on the most primal level.

“Can you save the gloating for later?” James asked in a slight daze as they made their way back round the side of the stage.

Lily grinned widely. “So long as you promise to at least try to get me an autograph.”

“I’ll do my best.” He removed himself from her, and made his way to that small room, but found it empty. Seeing no one who looked like staff, he wandered and eventually heard voices speaking in rapid Arabic, and wondered if he ought to just move along.

Instead he knocked, and pushed the door open slightly to find Remus, Sirius, and Regulus in a small, cosy dressing room. “I’m so sorry,” James said quietly. “I wasn’t sure where to meet and I know you’ve probably got a time limit.”

Remus looked annoyed, but Regulus quickly spoke, making Remus freeze. Regulus was sat on a sofa, rubbing something onto his fingertips which James assumed had to be aching, if not bleeding at the very least with the way he’d played.

Remus said something back to Regulus, then turned to James. “He says you helped him out earlier. You can come on in.”

James felt his heart thudding in his chest, feeling almost naked and vulnerable with both Remus and Sirius’ sharp gazes on him. He tried his best to look professional as he made his way to an offered chair, and sat. He hesitated, then pulled out his recorder and set it on the table, looking at Remus to see if he was ready to speak for him.

“My name is James Potter, and I work for the Daily Prophet. I’m the Editor in Chief, and I also handle a lot of the Entertainment section.”

When Remus didn’t speak, James frowned, and then Sirius said, “Go on.”

James spluttered. “You speak…English.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, his accent thick, but clear enough to show he had been speaking English for a long time. After a beat, he rolled his eyes at Remus. “He tells people we don’t to avoid unnecessary dealings with the press.”

James nodded, then his face broke out into a hot blush as he looked over at Regulus who was smirking a bit. “Oh god, so you could understand me?”

Regulus snorted, then shrugged, his face still tipped down, but giving off the impression that he was very intently paying attention to James. “Ah…yes. I could understand you perfectly. I wasn’t sure if you were some contest winner, and I hadn’t meant to get stuck in that room.”

“Bloody hell,” James muttered. “I feel like a twat.”

“Actually you were very kind,” Regulus said.

“Well if it helps, I didn’t actually know who you were. This is the first time I’ve heard of you. One of my co-workers insisted I do a piece on the pair of you.”

Sirius lifted a brow, crossing his arms as he leant back in his own chair. “Is that so?”

“It’s not meant to be offensive,” James said in a hurry, feeling like an even bigger idiot. “You were amazing. Honestly my entire perspective is…well. Anyway.”

Regulus snorted, but didn’t say anything, and after a beat Sirius replied, “Good enough for us. Go on and ask your questions.”

So James did. He kept them standard, though Sirius was far more open about his marriage than Remus was, and James agreed not to mention the person he was married to. Regulus kept his personal life rather quiet, though admitting he was single and rarely had romantic attachments.

“We travel a lot,” he said softly. “And I don’t have time to form the bonds I’d like to before settling down.”

James felt his stomach clench when he realised that was true. The brothers lived in Morocco and even if they didn’t, their tour schedule was mad. “That’s understandable. I don’t travel, but my work keeps me at the office more than home. I can’t count how many mornings I’ve woken up at my desk.”

Regulus’ smile was cautious, and James was pointedly ignoring the knowing stares Sirius and Remus were giving them. “Not easy, is it?”

After a beat, Remus sighed. “Alright well, if there’s nothing else…?”

James tried not to be disappointed. “Ah, no. Not that I can think of. Except maybe a few photos but I promised my co-worker Lily…pretty ginger walking round in a green dress…”

“I noticed her,” Sirius said. “Moons, why don’t you and I go fetch her, yeah? Then we can get the photos done? James, you don’t mind waiting here, do you?”

James shook his head, clearing his throat. “No ah. That would be…just fine.”

And then they were gone, and James was left alone with Regulus. After a long moment, he let out a tense laugh and asked, “Did they do that on purpose?”

“Likely,” Regulus said, and shifted over. “You don’t have to be all the way over there, you know. Unless it bothers you that I…”

Regulus stopped when he heard James rise and scramble over. It was pointless, James knew. It was a star-crossed lovers tragedy just waiting to happen. But he found the man’s pouting grin and quiet demeanour hard to resist. No, it was impossible to resist. And James had denied himself for a long time.

“I feel like I’m making an arse of myself,” James admitted. “By the sink and then coming across like some arrogant twat saying I hadn’t heard of you before…”

“Well it was a bit refreshing, in a way,” Regulus admitted, turning slightly to face James. His eyes were such an amazing colour, the sharp grey like storm clouds. “I hear a lot of people who talk to us, with a sort of arrogance like they think it would be impressive to not be a fan. Yours was…honest.”

James laughed quietly. “It was. Lily’s going to have me eating crow for a month. She swore she would when I told her I didn’t like classical music. Though that wasn’t entirely erm…classical, was it?”

Regulus grinned, reaching out and giving James’ shoulder a pat. “Ah well, it depends on what you consider a classic. You know Nirvana is now considered classic rock.”

James groaned, rubbing his face. “You had to remind me. I don’t enjoy feeling this old.”

Regulus chuckled, and instead of removing his hand, he trailed it down James’ shoulder, to his wrist, then to his palm. James could feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers, and he couldn’t help but push his hand against the other man’s. “Does it hurt?”

Regulus lifted a brow. “Does what hurt?”

James ran the edge of his thumbnail over the pad of Regulus’ forefinger. “This? Playing like that. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of concerts, and I’ve never seen anyone play like that before. Honestly I’m not even sure how to sum it up in my article.”

Regulus’ cheeks darkened with a pleased blush, and he dragged his fingers over the lines in James’ palm. “It aches after concerts. Makes reading braille a bit harder but I’ve adapted to it. I’ve been playing most of my life. My parents weren’t sure Sirius and I were going to amount to much, you know? Sirius being well…himself. Defiant. Rebellious. And me being blind.”

James felt his gut twist in annoyance. “Rubbish.”

“Well,” Regulus said from behind a breath, “we thought so. And apparently so did YouTube.”

There was a pause, then they both chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“You can put that on the record as well, if you like. It would bring me some joy to know my mother might read it.”

James leant over, nudging Regulus with his shoulder. “I think I can do that.”

“So erm.” Regulus’ hand tightened on James’. “I know our schedules don’t really…match up. And we’re not in London a lot but…I sort of had the impression you were at least a little interested. We’ll be here another week so if you’d fancy a dinner…”

“Yes,” James blurted, then cleared his throat. “Yes I…yes. I would love to. I could pick you up and take you out. You could some to mine, and I could cook for you. Whatever you like.”

James then winced, thinking Regulus might be put off by how absolutely eager he was, but instead he was met with a soft smile and shy shrug. “Alright. Honestly I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard on this tour, James Potter. Tomorrow work for you?”

James swallowed thickly, then grinned and tugged Regulus closer. “Yeah. Tomorrow is bloody perfect.”

*** 

Epilogue

Regulus walked straight into open, waiting arms he knew would be there on the side of the stage. He let himself be crowded back behind the heavy, velvet curtain. The crowd’s applause was still roaring, calling for another encore. Sirius was nearby, kissing his husband most likely, or talking to the press.

Neither James nor Regulus cared much. James had his hands on Regulus’ cheeks, caressing the skin, feeling him. Regulus had been on the road and James had been unable to meet up with them for nearly a month, and he had been missing him so much. The pain like a vicious, bleeding stab-wound in his gut.

Now though, holding him, pressing their noses together, breathing him in. “God I can’t believe how long you’ve been gone,” James muttered, right against Regulus’ lips. “I can’t believe I lasted this long.”

“I know,” Regulus said, then closed the distance between them, letting his mouth open under James’ easily, readily. He had a feeling they could be seen by others, but he didn’t care. Not when he had the love of James Potter. “Tell me you have no plans for all of tomorrow. Because I don’t plan on letting you out of bed aside from food, toilet, and maybe a shower.”

James laughed, nuzzling along Regulus’ neck, nipping at the skin softly. “Ah my love, believe me. I have no plans to leave for days, if I can help it.”

Regulus trailed his hands down to James’ hips and held him fast, kissing him again and again, and again. “Perfect. Have I ever mentioned how perfect you are?”

“A few times,” James said with a small laugh. “I could stand to hear it a bit more.”

Regulus let out a small growl, whipping them round so he had James now pinned to the wall, and he stood up on his toes to dominate the kiss. When it ended, he grinned and bit lightly on James’ bottom lip. “Well you bloody are. Perfect.”

James sighed happily and nosed through Regulus’ hair for a moment, simply basking. When he finally let himself breathe properly, he pressed the flat of his palm over Regulus’ rapidly beating heart. “So are you my love. So are you.”


End file.
